


the ache in my chest that my hearts didn't invite

by orphan_account



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Episode: s07e05 The Angels Take Manhattan, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-01
Updated: 2012-10-01
Packaged: 2017-11-15 09:54:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/526011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New York, 1970. In forty-two years, he will sit on this very same bench while reading the very last page. But right now, he shows Brian that he kept his promise after all.</p>
<p>[spoilers for 7x05, the angels take manhattan]</p>
            </blockquote>





	the ache in my chest that my hearts didn't invite

**Author's Note:**

> title adapted from a lyric in the song "paper tigers" by owl city. this concept is going to be done so many times so I appreciate you taking time out of your day to read my word vomit and feels.
> 
> unbeta'd, unbritpicked, all mistakes are mine.

Five days later, a phone rings.

Rory’s mobile is lying on the console, wedged in between a wibbly lever and a series of flashing purple lights. The name “Dad” flashes on screen, with a picture of Brian sandwiched in between a grinning Amy and Rory, flashing a peace sign at the camera.

He’s not sure what to do the first time Brian calls, much less how to answer that blasted piece of 21st century technology, so he leaves it be. But Brian doesn’t stop calling. After a while, the gap between each call gets smaller and smaller until eventually he’s calling every five minutes and the Doctor simply cannot take it any longer.

Part of him was hoping to avoid this. The other part knew it was inevitable.

* * *

 He doesn’t say a word to Brian when he lands inside of his flat, just sticks his head out and beckons with one finger for him to come into the TARDIS. Brian follows obediently and quietly, noticing that his son and daughter-in-law aren’t in the main control room but doesn’t ask. He’s quick to learn to not upset a brooding timelord.

The Doctor takes him to New York, 1970, and sits him down on a bench. (In forty-two more years, he will be back at this very bench, reading the last page.) “You are not to say a word to them,” he says finally. “If they know that we’re here, it’ll create a paradox so big it’ll tear the city apart.” And he points.

An elderly couple walks down the pathway, holding hands. “Is that...?” Brian says, but he chokes on the rest of his words.

“Shh,” the Doctor replies, and squeezes his hand.

Amy and Rory walk slowly, stopping every once in a while to hand a dime to a child or to stop and chat with a street vendor or some tourists. “They’re about 70 years old, now,” he tells Brian. “Living in the past for forty years. So brave.” He smiles weakly to himself. “They’re always brave.”

“What happened?” Brian asks.

“The Weeping Angels,” he replies. “One of the most feared races in the universe. They send people back in time and feed off the time energy of a life not lived. I rescued them once, Brian, and nearly destroyed the world doing that. I can’t do it again.” He looks over at him. “When I bring you back to 2012, they will be dead. And I’m sorry. But you need to know that they died happy, and they died together, after living a very long life.”

A tear spills out of Brian’s eyes. “They’re happy,” he says, watching them smile to each other. “That’s what matters.” He says it like he’s trying to convince himself; it’s clear that he wasn’t saying it to comfort the Doctor whatsoever.

“I’m sorry,” the Doctor says again.

“They’re happy,” he repeats, and looks over at him. “Thank you.”

“You’re... welcome?” The Doctor raises an eyebrow.

“They were happy, travelling with you,” Brian explains. “I know that both of them wouldn’t have traded it for the world. And they’re together. In all of space and time and whatever else you offer them, as long as they’re together, it’s okay.”

“They’re always brave,” the Doctor says again, rather absentmindedly.

“You keep saying that,” Brian says. “But what does it mean?”

“My friends,” he replies. “They’re always brave.” He sighs and looks at Brian fondly. “Right now, you most of all.”

* * *

When Brian arrives home, there is a letter in the mailbox.

_Dad:_

_I hope that by the time you read this letter, the Doctor has told you what happened to us. How we got stuck in 1930 and how we can’t come back. I hope you’ll forgive him. He tried his hardest, and it truly isn’t his fault._

_I just want you to know that we were happy, in the end, Amy and I. The Doctor will tell you this, I’m sure, but he’s telling your more for his own benefit than yours. He wants to believe we’re okay too, and if there’s one person the Doctor would never trust, it’s himself._

_Look after him (and River) for us. Call him, every once and a while. (If you mention an alien apocalypse, he’ll be much more prompt.) Make sure he’s okay. Make sure he’s not alone. And if he is, tell him that you’re there for him. Because he needs you. He needs his friends. If he’s there for you, make sure you’re always there for him._

_If all goes according to plan, this letter will be put in a time capsule to be dug up around the time we head off to Manhattan in 2012, so it should get to you a couple days after if they do end up mailing it. Just remember, no matter what, I love you, Dad. Thanks for everything._

_-Rory_

**  
**He keeps the letter folded up in his favourite jacket, the pocket right over his heart. Just a reminder that everything, in the end, ended up okay. He never forgets the timelord, that brilliant old man in the blue box, who stole his son but gave him a life he never could have dreamed before, who carries the guilt of so many lives lost as an ache in his hearts. And if anyone ever asked if he blamed him, the answer would always be the same: never.


End file.
